


Love Me

by irminguarde



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irminguarde/pseuds/irminguarde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom feeds off of the adoration of his fans. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me

He straightened his tie and checked his hair in the mirror one last time before heading for the door of his flat. It was going to be a good night. He could feel it in his bones. He was dressed in his best suit, a dark navy with a crisp white Oxford and dark tie underneath. His chin was covered with just the slightest hint of stubble and his hair was cleanly cut. There were times that he let both grow longer but he knew that this look got the best reaction. And tonight he needed the best he could get. He was running on low.

The car was waiting for him when he stepped out on the street. Sometimes, he could drive himself but, after a night like tonight, he was usually too intoxicated to get behind the wheel. As the driver held the door open and told him how nice he looked that evening, Tom breathed in deeply and felt the first hit run through his system. He smiled at the man as he slid into the backseat and let the sensation run through his body as the car pulled away from the curb, feeling it hit his fingers and his toes with a sort of sweetness. He hadn't been out in days and it showed. Normally such a small thing wouldn't have such a big effect on him. But, he wouldn't make that mistake again. And he meant to make up for it tonight.

The car stopped only once to pick up his publicist and, as the young man slid into the backseat next to him, Tom got his second hit. It was diminished from the first because, unlike the driver, his publicist expected him to be well-dressed, to look good, but it was still there, nonetheless. Tom breathed it in deeply, taking every bit that was offered, letting it swirl through his system. It made him feel more grounded, more centered, and he felt the first thrills of excitement prickle his skin. It wouldn't be long now, not long at all.

They arrived at the event a few minutes later. As he stepped out of the car, the camera flashes hit his eyes and he felt the initial waves pleasantly roll over him. At the first call of his name, he turned to the voice and breathed deeply, taking bits from here and there as he made his way down the red carpet. He gave interviews, took pictures. He was there to see some movie; it didn't really matter which one. All that mattered is that they continued to talk to him, continued to take his picture, to praise him and tell him how wonderful he was. And with every compliment, with every photo, he took it in, bit by bit, breathing deeply as his body began its pleasant decent into fulfillment. But, it wasn't enough. Not yet.

It wasn't until he turned the last corner just before entering the building that he spotted them. He saw the signs held high, with things like, "Loki's Army," and "Hiddlestoners Assemble," written on them, and felt a shot of adrenaline run through his veins. Yes, this was what he'd been waiting for. This was why he was here.

As he walked to toward group, their cries grew louder until they were almost deafening and he breathed in deeply. His knees almost buckled as the hit raced through his body but he managed to keep his feet underneath him and a smile on his face. This was what he needed; this was what he craved. Adulation, in its purest form.

As he took pictures and signed autographs, he breathed deeply, taking from each one. Usually it was only seconds or a few minutes but, every once in awhile he'd get lucky and someone would offer him days or months, all without even knowing it. That was the beauty of his craft. He'd take moments of their life, moments they offered freely, and they'd never miss them. They'd never even know that they'd had them to begin with, that they were supposed to live to seventy instead of sixty-nine, that they'd been meant to die at 11:53AM instead of 11:45AM. And, if by some ill fortune they did find out, they'd never guess that it had been him, their beloved Tom, who'd taken those moments. They loved him. They all loved him, so much that they were willing to give their lives to him. And the more they loved him, the more they gave.

He signed every last piece of paper thrust at him, took every photo asked of him, and even gave out a few hugs. By the time his publicist pulled him away, his head was beginning to dull into a foggy state of bliss and his body into a warmth of pleasure. This was living; this was life. Three months, eighteen days, forty-three minutes, and six seconds of it, to be exact.

As he turned and began to walk away, someone cried out behind him, "I love you, Tom!"

With a smile, he turned and said, "I love you, too."

And he meant it. He really did.


End file.
